


Survive

by TeyrianTimelord



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Pietro to the rescue, Referenced prostitution, Sibling Fluff, Sokovia, only Maxicest if you want it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeyrianTimelord/pseuds/TeyrianTimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanda is willing to do whatever it takes to survive. </p><p>Pietro is not pleased when he finds out what that entails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survive

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for about three days, typed entirely on my IPad so it took FOREVER and my fingers hurt. Anyways, enough of my bitching. Mostly just fluff, not really incest unless you really squint. 
> 
> Enjoy! Comments are always appreciated :3

The Sokovian economy had not been considered 'good' since 1992. Inflation made for a nightmare in the country's business market, and as such jobs were rare opportunities often talked about but hardly ever seen. Food got more expensive as wages steadily decreased. Rent continued to be raised as employment became harder to find. Such conditions are not favorable to the average family just struggling to get by, much less so for orphaned twins left to fend for themselves. 

Pietro swallowed that bitter pill day after day as he and Wanda wandered the streets of Sokovia scrounging for any work that could be spared. He had two jobs, one assisting a mechanic and one clearing tables at a restaurant, and still barely made enough to buy a head of cabbage each week. The hours were long and thankless, but he didn't complain, knowing his sister had it worse. Most of her day was spent scrubbing the floors of a hotel, constantly on her hands and knees. He hated it; she always came home at night with bruises on her legs and scabs on her fingers. It wasn't right. Wanda was meant for great things, beautiful things, not laboring like a servant day in and day out. But no matter how much he urged her to let him provide for them both, she insisted that the money was too good for her to quit. Week after week they had the same argument, and week after week he was reminded that if they both didn't work to the bone, they would starve.

One night, however, something changed. Pietro came back from the mechanics to their decrepit one room apartment to be met by the wafting smell of their mother's rosemary stew, and the warm embrace of his twin. Delighted as he was at the extraordinarily pleasant surprise, as she usually wasn't home until past midnight and their usual supper was stale bread or boiled cabbage, it seemed too good to be true.

"What's wrong, my love?" Wanda asked with concern, noticing his discomfort. 

Pietro took in another deep breath, filling his nose with the rich scent of herbs and potatoes and beef. Just like mama used to make. 

"Nothing, sestra, just... How did you afford all this?" 

Wanda brushed a handful of tangled hair out of her face, and though her eyes looked exhausted, flashed a proud smile.

"I got a well paying promotion! I make more money now and get to work shorter days at the hotel."

Pietro raised an eyebrow quizzically. Her voice was gleeful and honest, yes, but there was something wrong about her eyes. They weren't sparkling the way they usually did when she was truly excited about something. They sparkled when she sang lullabies in old Sokovian while she cooked. They sparkled when she put on old pieces of jewelry he had salvaged from the bombing. But they didn't sparkle now. He could feel that she was not telling the whole truth. 

"So what are you doing now?" he asked, trying not to let his suspicions show.

"I'm a housekeeper." 

As the words left her lips, he saw her right index finger curl up; her tell for when she was lying. But before he could make any more interrogations, she ran to the stove to get back to work on their stove, and he knew she would be devastated if it didn't come out just right. Not tonight, but Pietro resolved to find out what his dear sister was hiding. 

Wanda left the apartment the next day looking different. She wore heavier, darker, makeup than usual, most mornings being too tired to apply any at all. Instead of a messy bun her hair was loose and sleek with the conditioning oils she saved for special occasions. Her dress was short and fitted, unlike the mid length skirts that at least partially protected her knees from the hard stone floors. Pietro pretended not to notice, and walked with her down the alleyway behind the apartment building until she had to veer left to the hotel and he right to the restaurant. But he didn't follow his usual route. Instead he walked a few blocks east before turning back around toward the hotel, sprinting to catch back up with Wanda and keeping close to the sides of buildings to keep himself as far from view as possible. He finally caught sight of her again, but he bit his lip. She walked right past the hotel and continued down the cobblestone street toward what had been in the old days, the Jewish ghetto. Even the nice parts of town were not particularly safe for a young woman alone; the ghettos even less so. While the neighborhood was no longer filled with those distrusted by an oppressive regime, it had become home to the most unsavory of characters: drug dealers, mobs, traffickers, pimps, and the like. Pietro bit his lip. What possible reason would draw his innocent sister to this part of the city? 

Still, despite the urge to jump out and drag her home, he stayed a safe distance behind to see just where the dice would fall. Wanda had her shaw wrapped tightly around her shoulders, head down and walking quickly, occasionally glancing around. She looked like a criminal trying to flee without drawing attention to themselves. After about half a mile, she rounded a corner into a tight alley that Pietro could only peek around to still keep himself hidden. At the end of the road was only a lowered fire escape into what looked like the back of an abandoned school, the doors and windows boarded up. However, despite the building's shoddy appearance, the lane was far from empty. Wanda was standing amidst a small crowd of other girls, some a little older than her and some far younger, and she was by far the most modestly dressed. Some smoked, some swigged from flasks, some conversed with others, but they all stood with their backs to the wall, most with an arm or leg propped up. Wanda did none of those things, but rather stood with her arms crossed and eyes still down. Pietro felt his breath hitch. 'Please,' he silently prayed. 'Please don't let this be what it looks like.' 

He was about to let out a distressed sigh when the sound of approaching footsteps stole the air from his lungs completely. Pietro quickly pulled up the hood of his jacket to look like any other street rat who might wander the ghetto just as a group of five men came down the street. They were well dressed, all smoking and laughing, no doubt some of the few businessmen left in Sokovia whose establishments profited enough to afford such fine clothing. They passed Pietro without notice, going straight for the girls. 

"Welcome back, gentlemen!" the oldest woman of the group greeted enthusiastically. She could not have possibly been any more than 25. "How many would you like today, sirs?"

"Just two for now, Masha," one of the men answered dismissively. 

While four of the men stayed huddled together, talking quietly amongst themselves about stocks and occasionally gesturing to some of the girls, the one whom the madam had addressed was perusing the line of women, examining them each carefully with a trained eye. He first stopped in front of a curvy blonde who had the reddest lips and bluest eyes Pietro had ever seen. She flashed him a coy yet eager smile. 

"Alexandra, of course, darling, you are always a favorite," he purred, to which she jumped excitedly. 

As he made his way to the last few women, Pietro found himself praying again. 'Please, God, anyone but Wanda. Please, just not Wanda.' But even though he begged under his breath, the man stopped once again in front of none other than his sister. His beautiful, sweet, perfect sister. It was only when the man put a finger under her chin that Wanda finally looked up from her shoes. 

"You were a delight yesterday, my dear. Come along."

It was at that point that Pietro could no longer contain himself, suddenly bolting up from his hiding place.

"Hey!" he shouted, drawing all eyes on him. "Touch my sister again and I'll bash your head in with a brick!" 

"Pietro!" Wanda gasped. "What are you doing here?! Go home!"

The man, despite the demand, just clamped his massive hand down on her wrist. 

"You obviously don't know your place, boy, or that of a whore. Listen to her and go home before someone gets hurt," he growled.

Pietro narrowed his eyebrows. "Not without my sister." 

Pietro had always been a stubborn and aggressive child. When they were still able to go to school before being put out on the streets he was constantly getting in trouble for arguing with teachers and fighting other kids much bigger than himself. But no matter how many times his knuckles were bloodied by the edge of a ruler or how many days he came home nursing a broken nose, he never backed down, especially when it came to protected Wanda. Her honor, her reputation, her lunch, it didn't matter; he defended anything to do with her. It was true then, and it was true now. In an instant, he grabbed an empty vodka bottle from the garbage can and threw it directly into the businessman's forehead, cutting into the skin and knocking him to the ground. Before the man's companions had time to retaliate, he ran to Wanda's side, wrapped his fingers in hers and started dashing. Despite her earlier protests, this time she followed without resistance and they sprinted through the streets together while the furious shouts of the men and prostitutes faded behind them. 

They finally stopped when they reached the back of the restaurant where Pietro worked, both panting and heaving after the strain of running almost a mile without rest. Even though his side ached and lungs pleaded for more air, he immediately turned to face Wanda, who had slid from her feet to sit on the ground. 

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, kneeling to look her in the eye.

"The hotel fired me," she rasped through her gasps for breath. "No one else was hiring. I did what I had to for us to survive." 

Pietro's hands shot out to grasp her shoulders. 

"No! Do you hear me? Never think like that again. I'll work every hour of ever day and never eat again before a man pays to touch you. Understand?"

Wanda sighed and shook her head, resting a hand softly on his cheek. Pietro couldn't help but to close his eyes and lean into her warm palm as she brushed her thumb over his lips. Nothing else on earth could make him feel as calm as her touch. She was everything safe, and kind, and home. 

"The world is cruel, my love. We must both make sacrifices to carry on," she said softly. 

Pietro drew her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest and burying his fair in her hair. He could feel her hands slip around his waist, winding them together into a perfect knot that nothing and no one could untie. 

"No," he murmured steadfastly. "I'll always protect you. I promise."


End file.
